


Elusive

by panicky_pancakes



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Artist AU, F/F, F/M, Graffiti, I gotta say this one is fun, Javey - Freeform, M/M, Modern AU, he's not very smart, javid - Freeform, they're idiots your honour, we get to watch Davey be an idiot for a long time
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-17 22:42:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29233200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panicky_pancakes/pseuds/panicky_pancakes
Summary: A Banksy-like figure is running amok in New York City. But Davey Jacobs doesn't care -- he's too busy working nights and going to school during the day to support his family. Until strange clues start to show up about the artist- who calls themself "Cowboy". So who IS Cowboy?
Relationships: Davey Jacobs/Jack Kelly, David Jacobs & Sarah Jacobs, David Jacobs/Jack Kelly, Henry & Davey Jacobs (Newsies), Henry/Hotshot (Newsies), Racetrack Higgins & Jack Kelly, Sarah Jacobs/Katherine Plumber Pulitzer
Comments: 3
Kudos: 20





	1. Banksy (Not!)

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy this and PLEASE leave comments!! Really hope you like this one, it's honestly some of my favourite dialogue I've ever written!
> 
> NOTE: I am not fluent in Russian, nor am I myself bilingual (though I have spent a lot of time around people who are). Please let me know if my representation of bilingual/multilingual people is incorrect in any way, as I'd like to represent these characters properly.

" _And our top story as we move into the five o’clock news, the elusive artist who calls themselves ‘Cowboy’ has struck again, this time—”_

Davey flicked off the television with a sigh. He’d thought maybe some noise in the background would help his brain focus on his work, but it only added to the cacophony that was already there. Turning his attention back to his computer screen, Davey wrinkled his nose at the Google Classroom assignment. ‘ _Compose a chorale’ my ass,_ he thought bitterly. _I should be at work_.

Before he could open the program on his laptop, he heard the lock click in the door, followed by muffled voices in the hallway of the apartment building.

“Hey, _сынок_ ,” Davey heard his mother say as she came in the door. “How was your day?”

“Ah, same old,” Davey answered, standing up from the sofa and shutting his laptop. “Uni was tough this morning.”

“Ha-ha,” Les teased.

With one arm, Davey held his younger brother in a headlock, and with the other, he popped toast into the toaster and got out the peanut butter.

“Davey—” Les tried to pry Davey’s arm off him. “Get off,” he mumbled, “c’monnnn…”

“You’re not going to eat with us?” Davey’s mother asked, eyeing the toaster. “I got paid today, so we’ll have a bit more tonight.”

Davey paused, allowing Les to scamper away up to his room. He weighed the consequences of being late for work, of getting to eat a full meal with his family instead of being on time. But, counting the days in his head, he realized that performance reviews would be given the following week. He shook his head, shaking the image of a family dinner away along with it.

“I have to get to work,” he said. _I have to work_ had become akin to an apology in the Jacobs household, one that could not be contested.

“Okay. Call me when you clock out,” Davey’s mother told him, kissing his cheek. “ _тебя люблю_.”

“ _тоже тебя люблю_.” After Davey told his mother he loved her too, he grabbed his jacket and headed out the door. He was glad to speak Russian at home, he really was, but as he spent less time at home between work and school, he sometimes wondered if he’d lose it and forget about it. Sarah rarely spoke it anymore. He missed her.

Work, as usual, was awful. The place where Davey worked didn’t pay much, and the employees couldn’t unionize or do anything about the subpar working conditions. It would be wrong to say that Davey didn’t care, but he didn’t complain. Every time he wanted to, all he had to do was think about the unpaid bills on the kitchen counter. He kept his mouth shut.

Finally, _finally_ , the clock struck eleven. Trying not to look too eager to leave, Davey clocked out and tugged his beanie over his ears – March had not been a kind month to the iron deficient and easily chilly. In vain, Davey tried to scroll through his phone as he left the building, but his gloves would not let him. With a sigh, he stuffed his phone back into his jacket pocket as he turned the street corner.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a dark figure in the alley beside him. His first thought? _I’m going to be mugged._ But the figure did not come for him. On closer inspection, Davey realized that the figure was painting something large on the brick wall beside the main doors. At first, he figured it was just some graffito looking to draw genitalia wherever they saw fit, but then his eyes caught the signature on the bottom of the wall. _Cowboy._ He remembered the news story.

Before he could stop himself, Davey gasped. The artist’s head snapped in his direction, and Davey could just barely see their eyes widen. With a clatter of paint cans and a shuffling of feet, the artist sprinted past him and was gone into the night, clipping shoulders with Davey as they ran. Rubbing his shoulder with a sigh, Davey continued down the street, already thinking of the homework that was due next week.

Davey woke fifteen minutes before his alarm, the clock reading 5:45 a.m. on the dot. Fuzzily, he tried to remember what class he had first that morning – before realizing that today was Saturday. After trying to go back to sleep, Davey gave up and blearily stumbled down to the kitchen. So much for sleeping in.

The coffee machine had not yet started to brew before Davey’s phone rang from where he had plugged it in the night before. His sister Sarah’s number blinked back at him, reminding him that he hadn’t called her in at least two weeks. With a pang of guilt, he hit the green button.

“Hey, Saz.”

“ _Davey! Oh, I missed you_ ,” Sarah’s tinny voice said through the phone. “ _Sorry for not calling, school’s been so busy, I have to be off-book really soon for the midterm show, so it’s been crazy, rehearsals back-to-back.”_

Davey sipped his coffee and nodded before he realized Sarah couldn’t see him. “Uh-huh.”

“ _Look, I picked Les up from school for lunch the other day—”_

“What?” How did Davey not know about that? He puzzled over this before it dawned on him that until yesterday afternoon, he hadn’t seen his little brother all week. More guilt followed this realization.

“ _Uh—”_

“—Never mind. Go on.” An argument was, Davey decided, _not_ the way he wanted to start his weekend.

“ _Okay. Um, he said that you’ve barely been home the last couple of days. Work, to school, then back again.”_

“He said that?”

“ _He notices more than you give him credit for, Davey.”_ He could just _see_ Sarah’s slightly knit brows, the corners of her mouth pressed with annoying sisterly concern.

“ _Have you been talking to anyone?_ Besides _Mom and Dad? Any friends?_ ”

After a pause, Davey reluctantly admitted, “no. Too busy.”

He heard Sarah sigh. “ _Well, I have to go, but listen. I have this friend, Henry, and you should… you should meet him for coffee._ ”

“Saz, I don’t have time for—”

“ _—no relationships!”_ Sarah amended, “ _you just… seem like you need a friend._ ”

Davey _really_ didn’t want to reply, so he didn’t, instead signing off from the call. “Bye. _Увидuмся_ .” _See you later._ It felt odd to tell his sister he loved her. They didn’t see each other enough for those kinds of words.

“ _Yeah._ ” The line clicked, and silence followed.

Davey couldn’t help but notice that his sister didn’t answer in Russian, but why that bothered him, he didn’t know.

Yet another news story about the famously invisible Cowboy was playing on the news screen when Davey walked into the coffee shop. The feeling of the artist’s shoulder slamming into his played over in his mind as he ordered his coffee and waited for Sarah’s friend to show up.

“Coffee for Davey?”

“Yes.” Pulling a cardboard sleeve over the cup, Davey took the coffee to an empty table and sat down. A few moments later, someone took the seat across from him.

“Hey, I’m Henry.” One of Henry’s eyebrows was partially covered by light brown curls poking out from under his hat, which he took off along with his jacket after sitting down. Clearly, Henry enjoyed layers, because underneath his jacket was a knit sweater pulled over a flannel. Granted, it was currently negative ten degrees outside. Something about Henry made Davey feel underdressed and plain, but he couldn’t pin what it was. It could have been the fact that his shoes seemed to sparkle cleanly despite the sloppy winter streets, or perhaps the way his horn-rimmed glasses sat on his nose and framed his face just so. Davey wondered if he looked awfully dorky beside Henry, like a high schooler again instead of an adult.

“Davey. Nice to meet you.”

“You, too. Sarah’s real nice for setting us up like this, we’ve heard a lot about you.” Henry grinned.

“‘ _We?’”_ Davey blurted.

“Yes,” Henry said, “A bunch of us in the theatre program are kind of one big group. Sarah talks about her family often.”

In all his busyness, Davey hadn’t even considered that Sarah might talk about him with her friends. _Yes,_ part of his brain whispered, _because you didn’t even stop to think about having friends in the first place. Busy, busy, busy…_

“Yeah, we miss her,” Davey chuckled, doing everything in his power to seem cool and calm. “Tell her to come home sometime,” he joked.

And Henry _laughed_! God, how it felt to make someone laugh again! And laughing with him, too? Why didn’t he do _that_ more often?

Before he knew it, an hour had passed. “I should get going,” Henry said eventually, “got to get home and run some lines.”

“Oh. Yeah.”

As they stood and pushed in their chairs, Henry grabbed a pen from his pocket and scrawled something on a napkin. “Here,” he said, “my phone number. My boyfriend is having me and some friends at a local bar next weekend for birthday drinks. Your sister will be there, you should come.”

Davey knew if he waited too long to answer, the cons his brain made up would win out the obvious pros. “Sounds great,” he said before he could stop himself.

On his walk home, Davey passed a small courthouse. He was pretty sure he’d gone there to contest a parking ticket once if memory served. Unusually, a crowd had gathered by the steps, the size crowd you’d expect more from a high-profile case at a large state courthouse. Pushing through people, he saw what the fuss was about.

Tall, colourful letters on the brick wall spelled out JUDGE SNYDER in large capital letters, with metallic bars enclosing the words in a stylized jail cell. As he stood and looked, someone came and stood with him, a boy about his age, hands stuffed in the pockets of a worn, black cargo jacket.

“Nice painting,” Davey commented to the boy. “Like it?”

“Meh,” the boy said with a frown. “I—Uh, the artist should have shaded the bottom more.”

With a glance down, Davey saw the Cowboy’s signature scribbled there. “How would you know?”

The boy raised one eyebrow and looked up at Davey. “Intuition.”


	2. Impossibility

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hoo boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah so my wifi cut out... meant to post this yesterday. Oops. Anyways! Hope you enjoy :D

Jack had never lived alone.

Every day of his life, he had woken up in a place full of other people, and adulthood was no exception. Jack did not even have his own room now, nor had he ever. An empty house was a foreign concept to Jack Kelly, but he did not intend to familiarize himself with it anytime soon.

“Mornin’, Charlie,” Jack yawned, feet hitting the cold floor.

Across the room, his sibling groaned but did not stir, bundled in blankets and pillows piled over their head. “Fuck off.”

“Yeah,” Jack snorted, “love you too.”

Still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, Jack pulled a sweatshirt over his ratty T-shirt and left Charlie to sleep a little longer. They were still in high school – exhaustion was a given, a fact Jack knew all too well. He didn’t miss high school, but he’d go back if he could – it’d be less time worrying about bills and taxes.

The tiny kitchen was not yet lit by the morning light, winter keeping the skies dark until well after Jack left the apartment. Turning on the light with a shiver, Jack jumped when his eyes caught the shape of his adopted brother still sitting at the kitchen table, laptop open and eyes red. An empty cup of coffee sat by Race’s messy scrawled notebook, and Jack could have sworn his brother’s eye was twitching.

“Oh, buddy,” Jack said sympathetically, sitting down next to Race. “Rough night?”

With a sigh, Race buried his head in his hands. “Can’t do it,” he mumbled. “Stupid fucking exams.”

“Bullshit,” Jack laughed, putting an arm around his shoulders. “C’mon, Racer, you got this. Go show that engineering exam who’s boss.”

Race shook his head. “Go ’way. No.”

“Yes!” he exclaimed, pulling Race out of his seat. “Go take a shower. The neighbours can probably smell you.”

“Mm.”

As his adopted siblings all filed into the kitchen and started making their own breakfasts, Jack was reminded of the group home they’d all grown up in. Five kids with nowhere else to go had found that they didn’t  _ need _ anywhere else to go. After Jack and Race (whose birthdays were a few weeks apart) had both turned eighteen, they’d started renting an apartment and had been doing so for almost two years.

Henry was the last to shuffle out of his and Albert’s room, curly hair sticking up at the back of his head.

“Birthday boy!” Albert exclaimed, thumping him on the shoulder. “How you doin’?”

“Not super excited to be nineteen,” chuckled Henry, “but you know. It ain’t twenty.”

Race, who had turned twenty years old three months ago, nodded his head sagely. “True.”

“Excited for drinks tonight?” Jack asked while putting fresh coffee grounds in the machine. He’d been the one to suggest that the five of them go out for Henry’s birthday instead of staying in and attempting to make some atrociously fancy cake that would have inevitably ended in disaster.

Henry nodded. “Definitely.” He paused. “Hey, if it’s okay, I invited a friend of mine to come along, I met him the other day.”

“For sure,” Jack said. “Is Hotshot coming?”

“I, uh, don’t know yet,” Henry hedged, clearly avoiding the topic of conversation. Henry’s boyfriend hadn’t spoken to him in over a week, making Jack want to punch Hotshot’s stupid face even more.

“Alright,” Jack sighed, seeing the look in Henry’s eyes. “Keep your head up, okay?”

“Yeah.”

“And don’t forget, we gotta give you your birthday punches later.”

“I won’t forget if you don’t,” Henry smiled.

As Jack walked to work and passed the alleyway where he’d been the other day, his mind replayed the events. He’d just finished a small painting, nothing too big, nothing too political when some guy around his age had seen him. Thank God it had been too cold for Jack to be barefaced – his black bandana may have been what saved him. But then he’d slammed into the guy's shoulder, locked eyes with him for just a second. How soon would it be before Jack got caught? Plenty of people didn’t like what he painted,  _ especially _ Judge Snyder. If he ended up in his court, he would be done for.

Vaguely, he ran through his art supplies in his mind. He would be out of blue soon, he remembered, but people were wary of anyone buying spray paint these days. Jack was surprised there wasn’t a warrant for his arrest out yet. After his first piece had gone viral, Jack’s conversation with Race and Henry had not been the most civil…

_ “What happens if you get caught? Huh?” _

_ “I don’t plan on it!” Jack crossed his arms. “People need to see this stuff.” _

_ “Jackie, we’re sixteen,” Race said. “And you know what’ll happen if you’re not careful. Think about Charlie and Al!” _

_ “I  _ am _ thinking about Charlie and Al! They deserve to live in a city where that kind of activism is tolerated!” _

_ There was a pause. Henry sighed, giving in. “Just be careful. Don’t want my big brother being shipped off to juvie before I turn sixteen.” _

Four years and a thousand empty paint cans later, Jack still hadn’t been caught. He’d lived up to his promise – so far.

He passed the courthouse on his way as well, and he noticed that his art had already been painted over. Typical. With a scoff, he continued walking until he remembered a conversation he’d had outside that very courthouse. He’d come so close to revealing himself to that guy; what if he’d been careless enough to let more slip?

Images of himself in prison flashed through his mind, all of Jack’s own making. He had never really confronted these fabrications before, at least not while conscious – perhaps in sleep, these were what really haunted him, though Jack could never remember what he dreamed of while he slept. More worrying images followed; Charlie in tears, Albert going hungry, seeing Henry and Race through a set of wrought iron bars. Like a dog shaking away dirty water, Jack gave his head a slight toss, flicking the worries away. Or trying to, at least.

The only person not at Henry’s birthday party, ironically, was Henry. At quarter-past six, the bar door swung open, revealing Henry and…

_ Shit. _ _ No, no, no. _

The guy walking in with him was the same guy who’d… who’d seen him…

Jack started to feel faint. It got worse when he sat down right next to Jack as if he’d never seen him before.  _ Because he hasn’t _ , Jack had to remind himself,  _ I was wearing a bandana. _

“Hey,” he forced himself to say, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I’m Jack, Henry’s brother.”

“Really?”

They got this all the time – it was tricky enough to explain that Jack, Henry, Race, Albert, and Charlie were all adopted siblings, and people never believed them if they just said 'brothers' or 'siblings'. Jack’s dark hair and Latinx complexion didn’t match Henry’s light brown curls and

blue eyes, not to mention the fact that Jack and Charlie spoke Spanish, Albert and Henry spoke French, and Race spoke Italian. They may not have been related, but Jack was tired of explaining.

Jack must have been silent for longer than he realized because Henry’s friend apologized guiltily.

“No, you’re good,” Jack assured him. “It’s kind of complicated.”

“Well, uh.” A beat. “I’m Davey. Have we met before?” Davey’s eyebrows knit together inquisitively, making Jack’s brain short-circuit out of fear. Was he about to be exposed?

Jack hoped he didn’t seem suspicious. “I don’t think so.”

Birthday festivities continued that night, but Jack’s attention was mainly on the restaurant napkin in front of him, which he’d been drawing on so he didn’t have to talk to Davey. He did his best to make it as unlike the Cowboy’s style as he could, using crosshatching and shading techniques he hadn’t thought about since he’d dropped out of art school. As the hours wore on, the drawing only became more detailed, perhaps needlessly so. Once Jack forced himself to actually finish drawing, his hand instinctively drifted to the right-hand corner and almost began to sign it with a very recognizable name but stopped himself once he felt Davey’s eyes on him and his drawing.

“That’s really good,” Davey complimented, tapping the napkin. “I like it.” His dark hair almost blended in with the mahogany-coloured walls of the bar, but his eyes stuck out like chips of ice. Their coolness would have been unsettling if it hadn’t been for the faint smile lines and the dark circles beneath them. They were almost as dark as Jack’s.

“It’s only a street corner,” Jack deflected, “anyone could draw it.”

Davey laughed a little. “But  _ you _ drew it.” He tilted his head to one side. “That makes it different.”

Did Davey know?  _ He doesn’t _ , Jack assured himself.  _ It’s impossible _ .

‘Impossible’ was probably a stretch.  _ Improbable. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you like it? Tell me!


	3. In Which Things Get Complicated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WHAT is going on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! I was just recently in a show (The Little Mermaid) that closed last week, so I had no time to write. But here I am! (P.S. I might be back on Tumblr soon! Maybe!)

“Can I help you with anything?”

Davey turned away from the bookshelf, heart jumping at a familiar voice. “Oh, hey,” he stammered, startled to see Jack Kelly. “You, uh…”

“Work here,” Jack confirmed. “As of today, actually.”

Davey relaxed just a little bit, relieved to be talking to someone he at least knew by association. Less stressed, he was able to notice the strong smell of coffee clinging to Jack that matched the one steaming from the bookshop café. “Making coffee?” he guessed before thinking.

“Yup,” Jack said. “Got to pay the bills somehow.”

“Right.” Davey knew the feeling all too well.

A shit-eating grin spread across Jack’s face. “The daily  _ grind _ , you know?”

Against his will, Davey snorted. “You have my dad’s sense of humour.”

“Well, then.” Jack’s voice took on the clipped accent of a London sophisticate. “Your father must be of the highest sensibilities.”

Fixing an imaginary bow tie, Davey raised an overdramatic eyebrow. “Yes,” he said in the same exaggerated accent, “if you find sewage jokes and plays-on-words amusing.” Both chuckling, they sat down at an empty café table.

“I’m on break right now,” Jack explained, gesturing to the pink-haired, piercing-studded girl who was now apathetically making an espresso. Davey wondered how anyone could be bored working in a place so full of books.

“How on earth,” Davey began, “did you get a job in a place like this? It’s amazing.”

“Amazing?”

“Okay, better than where I work,” he amended quickly.

Jack knit his brows. “Where do you work?”

“Call centre,” Davey told him, “it’s hellish. My manager thinks he’s kind, but really he doesn’t know the meaning of the word.”

Jack let Davey talk, nodding along at all the right places. It’d been a while since Davey had talked to someone about the call centre who didn’t actually work there. Clearly, somebody had taught Jack Kelly to listen – perhaps it had been his five siblings. A few times during their conversation, one of Jack’s dark brown curls would fall over his eyes, and he’d push it back with a calloused hand. Jack’s hair looked very soft.

“Oh, shit, look at the time,” Jack muttered after about fifteen minutes of conversation. “Davey, look, I’m sorry, my break’s almost over…”

Davey shook his head, saying, “no, no, I have class in about an hour, it’s fine.” Standing up, he remembered the books he’d set on the table. “Guess I’d better go and pay for these.”

“Yeah. Don’t steal from where I work, please,” Jack joked. “See you around?”

“Definitely.” Davey watched Jack walk behind the counter, quietly greeting his pink-haired co-worker and slipping an apron over his head. Glancing at the prices of the coffee, Davey wondered how often he could afford to come to the coffee shop. He hoped his math was wrong.

_ I'm literally going to eat him. lookout hotshot, here comes charlie morris. _

_ are you okay Henry? _

Davey had been added to a group chat, one that seemed to enjoy talking at all hours of the day, and sometimes all hours of the night. On this particular evening, Sarah and a few of Jack’s siblings were the culprits of the late-night messages. Scrolling up to see what had started their midnight conversation, Davey saw a single text from Henry:  _ hotshot broke up with me. _ The messages continued down, all of love and support for Henry (and declarations of war against the douchebag in question).

_ Sorry to hear it, _ Davey typed,  _ you doing alright? _ He waited for a response.

Three bouncing dots, then a message.  _ I’m okay, guys, _ Henry had written,  _ tbh kind of glad he’s gone. _

_ Good riddance.  _ Sarah accompanied her message with a choice collection of emojis.  _ Hated him. _

_ So did I, _ a new message read, sent by a number Davey didn’t have saved in his phone.  _ You’re better off without him. _

_ Thanks, Jack, _ Henry wrote.

There was a new name on Davey’s contact list within seconds, and the unknown number was replaced.

Banging his head on the dining room table sounded awfully appealing. Or, if not his head, the copy of  _ Romeo & Juliet _ that sat next to Davey’s laptop beside a currently empty word document. Introduction paragraphs had never been his forte, and Shakespearian tragedy was no exception.

“ _ тяжёлый день? _ ” Les pulled out a chair next to Davey and peered at the empty computer screen.

“It  _ has _ been a tough day, bubs.” Davey pinched the bridge of his nose. “School is hard. Enjoy sixth grade while you can.”

Les wrinkled his nose. “ _ Enjoy?! _ ” folding his arms across his chest, he continued. “Sally Masters won’t leave me alone!”

“Maybe she just wants to be your friend—”

“—Friends don’t steal each other’s lightsaber erasers!” Les paused, overcome with annoyance. “She still hasn’t given it back.” Les was Sarah in every way, Davey realized, right down to the light brown hair and temperamental personality. Talking to him made Davey miss his sister.

“Want to call Sarah?” Davey suggested, shutting his laptop. He could finish his essay later when the inevitable eleven o’clock energy surge descended on him.

“No,” Les sighed, “I have homework. Can you help me?”

Davey shifted in his seat. “I can’t, bubs, I—”

His brother fixed him with a glare. “I know today’s your day off from work,” he said, “so there.”

“So there?” Davey was amazed by his brother sometimes.

“Yeah.” Les nodded for emphasis. “So there.”

Thirty minutes and ten math questions later, Davey was once again reminded of how little he missed middle school.

If it was possible to be addicted to the news, Mayer Jacobs needed to go to rehab. CNN blared from the television whenever Davey’s father was home, and today was no exception. As the Jacobs family waited for the lasagne to finish cooking in the oven, the former president’s latest actions were, once again, the topic of discussion on the screen.

“Idiot man,” Mayer grumbled, followed by cuss words of the Russian variety as the newscaster segued into a different story.

“ _ In social news as we go into seven o’clock, the controversial graffiti artist who goes by the name of Cowboy now holds a social media presence. _ ” Anderson Cooper’s voice startled Davey out of a bored daze.

“Turn that up,” Davey told his father. “I want to hear this.”

Davey’s mother tilted her head. “You like art?”

“I’ve seen his stuff around,” Davey explained, choosing not to mention the fact that he was sure he’d seen the artist at work. “He’s interesting.”

_ “The question is,” _ Cooper continued, “ _ will the United States government try to track the artist using their Instagram posts? More after the break. _ ”

“They can  _ do _ that?” Les asked. “Isn’t that illegal?”

Davey’s father shook his head. “Not technically.” Davey could feel his brother groan internally at the prospect of another legal lecture.  _ You shouldn’t have asked, _ Davey thought with a wry smile.  _ You knew it was coming _ .

As of 7:06 pm, david_mayer_j was now on Instagram. At 7:07, the Cowboy had gained a new follower. 

A cross the city, Jack Kelly smiled.


	4. Pretty Bizarre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a movie theatre, a lot can happen...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is so bad aldkfjlkf

“ _Pleeease_?”

“No,” Jack scoffed, “I am not driving thirty minutes to go see your weirdo friends at some weirdo movie.”

Henry crossed his arms, reminding Jack of hundreds of past arguments between two headstrong ten-year-olds. “It’s not a weird movie,” he protested, “and my friends aren’t weird!”

Walking past the doorframe and into Henry’s room, Jack picked up a framed photograph of Henry, Sarah, and Hotshot, all of them wearing traffic cones on their heads. Last Halloween, if he remembered correctly. “Not weird at all,” he agreed sarcastically, setting the frame back on the shelf.

“Shut up.”

“You shut up.”

Henry snorted. “Will you take me or not?”

Jack pointedly turned his face away from his brother, looking instead out the small window covered in old stickers.

Henry was silent for a moment before saying, “Davey will be there.”

“You came!” Sarah exclaimed, throwing her arms around Jack. She smelled like oranges, Jack registered absently – his mind was on the gorgeous graffiti on the wall behind Davey. Black painted vines, twisting up the bricks and around a cracked and crumbling column. He wondered vaguely who the artist was.

“Hey, Saz,” greeted Henry, half-hugging his best friend. “Missed you.”

Walking away from the group of excited friends, Jack stood next to Davey, looking at the graffiti. Davey turned to look too, taking off the worn ball cap that sat on his head to look up more easily. The hat didn’t look like something Davey’s style – it was clearly a hand-me-down. If Jack remembered correctly, the stitching on it was an old rendering of the Toronto Maple Leaves’ logo. 1990, maybe?

“Nice hat.” Jack fiddled with the buttons on his flannel. “Maple Leaves?”

Davey grinned. “Yeah. My dad went to U of T.” His fingers ran along the brim of the cap. “He gave it to me when I graduated high school.”

“Class of ’19?”

“Yup.”

There was an awkward silence. Itching to break it, Jack started talking again. “Great art.”

Davey side-eyed Jack, icy blue eyes visible between narrowed eyelids. “Yeah,” he said after a moment. “Yeah, it’s cool. You heard of that guy, Cowboy?”

“This isn’t his,” Jack blurted before he could stop himself. _Shit_ , he berated himself, _shit, shit, shit._

“No?” Added to the side-eye was a dark, quizzically raised eyebrow.

Jack hated it. “I, uh, I mean…” _Really stepped in it now, haven’t you?_ “See how the colouration is different? And the shading is more realistic.”

Did Davey know? He couldn’t… Henry wouldn’t tell him, nor any other of Jack’s siblings… this had to be a coincidence. Coincidences were, as Jack understood, exactly what they sounded like: crazy mixed-up situations that only happened by accident. On the other hand, Davey finding out about Jack’s art would also be a _crazy mixed-up situation_.

“Right,” said Davey, breaking Jack’s train of thought. “Well, uh, everyone’s going inside…” he trailed off, more of a question than a statement.

Glad to be away from the graffiti, Jack turned on his heel and walked with Davey towards the theatre doors. “Glad they’re playing an old classic,” he said, “there aren’t any good new movies right now.”

Davey nodded, holding the door for Jack. “ _The Breakfast Club_ is one of my favourites.”

Five minutes and thirty dollars later, Jack and his siblings had their arms stuffed with bags of salty popcorn and cups of soda bigger than their heads. Charlie was currently using the hand that was not holding onto their crutch to eat Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups as they walked.

“I’ve never seen this movie,” they said around a mouthful. Funnily enough, they dressed exactly like Judd Nelson’s character. Jack had always figured Charlie drew their inspiration from that character – they even had the same hair. Apparently, he had been wrong.

“How have you _never_ seen this movie!?” Davey asked incredulously as the group took their seats.

Sarah nodded sagely. “It’s a classic. Even Les has seen it, and his favourite movie is _Godzilla Vs. King Kong_.”

As the lights dimmed, Davey gestured at Sarah, as if to say, _see?_ Charlie shook their head, laughing quietly.

Thirty minutes in, and Jack couldn’t stop staring at Davey.

Not in a romantic way, though. Just… the way Davey’s brows came together just slightly when something he didn’t like was said, the way the edges of his eyes crinkled a little at each small joke. The way he grabbed Jack’s arm when he laughed out loud. Davey was the most intoxicating person Jack had ever watched a movie with. Or maybe just in general.

Halfway through the movie, Davey leaned over, his head awfully close to Jack’s. “Want to know something?” he whispered.

Happily taken aback, Jack nodded.

Davey stifled a laugh. “When I was fifteen… wait, no, this is so embarrassing.”

“Now I have to hear it.”

“I had a crush on the jock kid. Andrew Clark.” Davey shook his head, laughing silently. “It was so dumb. But it holds up. He’s cute.”

Jack’s mind became silent, probably because it, like him, had no clue what to say. “Um.” _Good one_ , he thought.

“Don’t tell me you have a problem with gay guys,” Davey sighed quietly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t wanna do that one again.”

_Do what again?_

Well… holy shit. This was the first time Jack would let himself acknowledge it, even just internally. Was he about to say it out loud? Admit it to the world – even if the world only consisted of Davey Jacobs and a dark theatre right then? He had a split second to think, _I can change this and that’s okay._ Jack took a deep breath.

“No, no, I, um…” he tried not to choke on the words. “I’m actually bi, so, no I don’t have a problem.”

Davey turned back to the screen. “So, we agree then?”

It took a moment for Jack to realize that Davey was joking. “No,” he said, “the brain kid is one hundred times better looking.” He felt a grin spread across his face in the dark. “You’re wrong.”

“I’ll get you for that.”

Being ‘out’ as bisexual was in the back of his mind, most of his brain was occupied with the fact that Davey’s shoulder pressed against his on their shared armrest.

“You told _him_ before us?!”

Jack frowned. “I don’t know why it’s so important.”

“Fuck, Jack!” Henry was angrier than Jack had seen him. “And… and…”

Race picked up his brother’s train of thought. “We didn’t even hear it from you,” he said. “He mentioned it to Henry in passing, that’s how we found out.”

Elbows leant on the counter, Jack put his head in his hands, raking his fingers through his hair. “I just don’t get why it’s such a big deal. I’m still me.”

“We all came out to you, Jack,” Charlie said softly with a hand on his shoulder and another in their pocket. “It’s only fair you come out to us.”

“It’s a respect thing,” Albert agreed.

Angry, Jack rounded on his brother, taking Charlie’s hand off his shoulder. “Respect!?” His voice raised more than he wanted it to, but there was no backing off now. “You don’t even respect me enough to wait for _me_ to come out to _you_!”

“That’s not the important part!”

His siblings’ voices joined together in a cacophony.

“You should have told us—”

“—not like we wouldn’t accept you—”

“—only trying to help—”

“—didn’t even tell your _family_ —”

“—STOP!”

Silence rung around the apartment. Jack’s throat hurt after screaming the one word that had made visible tears gather in Charlie’s eyes. They looked crestfallen; all his siblings did. Had Jack gone too far?

“I’m going to go out,” Jack said quietly, voice slightly hoarse. “Don’t expect me back for a while.”

Nobody moved when Jack pushed past Race, and not even Henry said anything when he grabbed his duffel bag full of spray cans. Tears stung his eyes a little when Charlie tried to grab his arm and he had to shake it off.

Later, in a dark alleyway, a hood and bandana over his face, Jack let pink paint flow from the can in his hand. Following it with purple, he let the drips run down the brick wall nearly to the ground, and continued with blue. Contained inside a heavily shaded hand, he made sure the colours looked as if they’d been painted onto skin. It had been a while since he had done a piece quite so personal. As the sun began to rise, he added the final touch – thick black letters that read _PART OF ME_. Stepping back to admire his work, Jack tripped over his duffel bag behind him. With a clatter, he hit the ground.

“ _Hey!”_ Someone had seen him. Scrambling to pick up his stuff, Jack sprinted away into the early morning light, hoping the remaining darkness was enough to cover him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back on tumblr! find me @panicky-pancakes


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